


Sinking

by whispurr



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Actual Murder, Aquaphobia, Attempted Murder, F/M, Fog Warriors, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags as they come, Multi, Other, Slavery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4341380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispurr/pseuds/whispurr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the KM prompt <a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13010.html?thread=56211410#t56211410">here</a></p><p>Prompt: Fenris has a phobia. As a slave, he can only try and cope. But as a free man, there are other options.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> This story morphed into something as much about anxiety and identity as a cute fluff h/c prompt. Why does that always happen? Shit gets kinda heavy at times, with murder, rape, abuse, and other things that will probably come up, too. Please don't read if that could hurt you. Stay safe, readers. <3
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Abuse, very mild violence and gore, attempted murder, near drowning and a cartoonishly petty Danarius.

In a way, Fenris hated Seheron. But, no, that was not entirely accurate. He hated going to Seheron, but he hated leaving just as much.

Which was unfortunate. Danarius' interests in the eternal struggle between the Imperium and the Qunari drew the both of them to the island very frequently, but his position in the senate and personal affairs always kept them from staying for long. Inevitably, Danarius would be called away from his estate by some new development past the islands shores, only to be summoned home a short time later to settle some political spat that had developed in his absence. And, of course, wherever Danarius went, his dutiful servant followed. Always a pace to the side and three steps back.

Which meant boats.

Which meant the _sea_.

Danarius walked ahead of him, which was usual, but when he mounted the gangplank up to the ship that would take them out to Seheron, Fenris waited until he was on the ship proper before following so he could cross the bridge in a flighty jog. He let out his breath only when he was finally flat-footed in the dead center of the ship's deck, as far away from the railing as he could manage.

Danarius watched him silently, his full lips drawn into the faintest of smiles.

\--

The sun was setting by the time the Tevinter shore finally vanished from the horizon. Fenris had been commanded to help settle the cargo beneath deck while they were preparing to leave, and only just emerged to sit on a barrel secured next to the cabin door. He folded one leg so his foot was doubled back into his lap, picking at a splinter that had lodged into the arch of his sole.

"Fenris," his master called.

Fenris started, forgetting his splinter as he jumped to attention, but hesitated to heel at Danarius' side when he saw the man standing at the deck's edge.

"How can I serve you, Master?" he asked, hoping against hope he could avoid going anywhere near where Danarius leaned out over the vast waters.

"Come here, pet," Danarius said. His voice was kind and level, even falsely magnanimous, and though Fenris could easily recognize the warning signs, he still tried to draw up a step short behind his master's hip. Perhaps this would be permitted.

No such luck. With a sweeping motion, Danarius hooked his arm around Fenris' waist and pulled him a pace forward. Fenris halted, toes on one foot curled over the edge of the ship, and stood stock-still.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Danarius murmured to him, bringing the arm around Fenris up so his wide palm held firm between shoulder blades. "Don't you think?"

Did he think? No, he didn't. He didn't think anything. His mind was entirely occupied with the finer points of breathing and trying not to piss himself in terror.

"Master?" he managed, voice tight.

"The sunset, Fenris."

Oh. Yes, right. "Yes, master." Then, hoping that perhaps his participation might speed this along, he added, "Beautiful."

But Danarius' hand on him remained.

It remained, and it _pushed_.

And for a moment Fenris was gone, and an animal was in his place. Any concept of logic, of obedience, anything other than the pervasive instinct of _"I am going to die"_ was lost in him, and he reared backwards with a raw scream.

Danarius braced him, one hand fisted at the strap on his back, running perpendicular to his spine, and the other at the back of his neck and held him in place until the spike of instinct passed and Fenris was left, panting and trembling, but coherent.

"Don't fight me," Danarius warned him. His voice was narrow and threatening and nothing like the warmth of moments ago.

And so Fenris didn't. He swallowed and willed his body to be guided forward, swallowing and swallowing again to keep down the panic and the vomit as he could feel his center of gravity shift until it was over the waters below. If Danarius let go of his leathers, Fenris would drop and drown, and they would never find a body to bury.

"Please," he whimpered between the shallow sips of air he choked on.

This, at last, seemed to appease his master. Danarius pulled him back, stepping away and allowing Fenris to crumple into him, grasping desperately at his robes like a lifeline, like a child, and he rumbled with laughter.

"You continue to be full of surprises," Danarius remarked, delighted. The warmth and affection returned in spades, and the fingers at Fenris' nape softened to card over his crown.

\--

“Survive,” was the last order he was given. Danarius looked _afraid_ , and Fenris had never, _never_ seen his master afraid in his entire memory.

Years later, Fenris would look back on that face with raw joy, absolutely relishing his master’s distress. He would drudge up the memory alone in his mansion, exhaustion and liquor taking him in the early evening, and he’d drift to sleep with a smile. He’d allow himself to pretend that was the last time he saw his old master, the exception to that rule still too painful to willingly recall, and if he was extremely lucky, he would not dream at all, but if he were just a little less lucky, his dreams would stop after the boat left the shallows.

“Survive, Fenris!” his master had screamed out to him over the din of the battle. Despite the red stain spreading across the front of his robes, Danarius’ voice was still strong. “I will come back for you, just stay alive!”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise. Of security. Because the only one more frightened than Danarius, half-dead and bleeding out, was Fenris. Heat from Qunari explosives warmed his back and the sounds of battle rattled in his chest. Blood sluiced down his face, stinging his eyes and draining into his mouth so the only sense he had in the whirlwind of concussed bewilderment was the taste of copper.

He had never been alone before.

In his entire memory.

And now, Danarius was _taken_ from him, sailing out over the waters, and Fenris regretted his selfish moments of wanting just a little bit of time to his own. He would have traded any chance of that to be on that boat, pressed against his master’s bandaged side, where even if he wasn’t safe from Danarius’ fits of cruelty, he had a sure place.

Fenris’ hand was clawed around the round pommel of his greatsword, tip of the blade dragging heavily behind him in the sand, until it slipped from his grasp and laid forgotten on the shoreline. Water lapped at his feet. First a trickle, then inches.

“Master,” he called pitiably. His voice was weak and warbled enough without the crashing roar of war behind him, choked with blood and smoke. The water came up at his shins as he trudged forward. The boat was leaving. Leaving, and he couldn’t be left alone.

The water reached his knees, his thighs, and when it finally passed his hips, the drag of the tide’s undertow buckled Fenris’ legs. He stumbled before digging his feet into the sand, bracing himself as he went. The war cries of Qunari were too close behind him, hounding him out to sea.

_There was water all around him._

There was water all around him, now, as he finally reached a point where the sands under him dropped off and he was treading water. He hadn’t been certain he knew how to swim- he still wasn’t certain- but behind him was a war he couldn’t survive alone, and before him the speck of his master’s boat.

_There was water all around him, over his head and muffling the cries above._

He was wearing plate armor. Even if he could swim, he couldn’t in blasted plate armor. The water swallowed him up as his gauntleted hand beat hopelessly against the tide, delaying the inevitable for only a moment. Water crept into his mouth and panic made him breathe in.

_His back hit the bottom of the washing tub, rusty tin scratching at the skin over his spine._

Fenris thrashed for only a moment while his throat and lungs burned. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, and he knew only panic until he looked up.

_Her weeping, her strong, slim arms pinning him, beautiful rippling above the surface of the bath water. Wholesomely beautiful, in a way only found in a child for their mother._

The sun above him was beautiful and shimmering, cutting through the murky water like Andraste herself. The ocean was freezing, but he felt warm. He felt calm. The sting of brine in his wounds seemed distant and unimportant. For the first time since the branding, he felt safe.

He exhaled the last of his air and inhaled water.

 _’Maker’s blight, woman! What were you_ thinking _?’_

_She sobbed there on the floor, just feet away from his tiny, heaving body. Leto found the strength to look up at her between retching. Everything hurt. Strong arms dug into his belly, crushing him and pushing the soapy water out of his lungs._

_‘I can’t let him live like this!’ she finally managed, shrill and wild. Her hands found the circle of steel around her neck, yanking it hard towards her heart. ‘I can’t!’_

The waves threw him on the shore like a bucking gryphon, slamming him hard onto the compacted sand. Any other time it would have winded him, but Fenris just hitched, rolled and coughed out salt water. Wisps of air lodged in his chest like splinters. Like fire.

Fenris gasped and stuttered, hacking in pain with each jagged breath, until the weight of his soaked armor and the dizziness of drowning stole away his consciousness.


End file.
